Blackberries and Whales? (Part II)

Now we’ll get to do some whale-watching! What a thrill!

Ruthie took her turn with the binoculars. “I see something but it’s hard to make out.” She passed Rich our pair because Cec was using theirs. “You look, brother-dear.”            

Suddenly bouncing around, he yelled, “Yeah, I see them! Those are adults with their young ones! There, I see one rolling over!”

Born and raised here, Cec knew about the ocean and what swam through it. Lowering the glasses, she snickered to Ruthie, “I think our whale boys are hallucinating!”

Rich and I drew a crowd with our carrying on. Using their own field glasses, they too started hollering; “They’re right! I see them!”--”Yeah, there’s at least a dozen of them!”--“Wow, one came way up out of the water!” (Every word of this is true).

Eyes now used to the distance, I saw more clearly and lo, those whales were beginning to look suspiciously like low-lying rocks with waves breaking over them and shooting spray in the air.

The light also dawning on Rich, he muttered, “Hmm, on second thought…”

Meantime assuming we two clowns knew what we were talking about, everyone else was gathered around us.

I whispered, “Rich, we better sneak out of here.”

He whispered back, “And quick! They come to their senses, they’ll toss us in!”

The following week we were at Seattle’s airport and waiting to be checked through the security gate. We’d had a great time, especially the three days spent gobbling blackberries. Ruthie and Cecelia had made scrumptious cobblers and pies, we had heaped the lovely things on cereal and ice cream, and between meals we had scooped them from serving bowls to munch as is. By all rights we should have been heartily sick of them by now.

But no, as we stood in line for the security check, I carried a large storage box crammed full of them to keep enjoying once home. The box being transparent, I figured the NSA guard would see just berries inside and no problem.

When I stepped up to her, she was amiable at first. “Sorry, but I need to look inside that box before you bring it aboard.”

She didn’t sound all that serious. It having somehow slipped my mind that NSA people are never anything but with carry-on parcels, I kidded her by pulling it closer. “Nope, can’t have them-they’re mine! Ha-ha!”

Now feeding me a cold stare, she went curt. “What’s inside that’s so important?”

I thought-Me and my big stupid mouth! Now I’ve done it!

Having a lot more sense, Ruthie smiled, “We’ll be glad to open it if you want. They’re wild blackberries we’re hoping to take home to Wisconsin. During our visits here we go totally crazy over them!”

The guard broke into a wide smile. “I’m nuts for them too! I’ve lived here forever and still can’t eat enough of them! Don’t you have blackberries in Wisconsin?”

Laughing, Ruthie shook her head. “Not like these we don’t! Your wild ones are the biggest and tastiest we’ve ever had. We couldn’t resist bringing some home.”

Now all grins our new-found pal patted the box and jerked her thumb toward our gate. “Go on through, Wisconsin, you’re cleared!”            

 

 

Here’s the first half of a travel piece that asks a riddle; know what whales and blackberries have in common? Me, neither. If you figure it out, write in and tell me, okay?             

                        

                                Blackberries and Whales? (Part One)

After flying in to see son Craig in Seattle, Ruthie and I broke away and drove our rental car south to visit with her older brother, Rich, and wife Cecilia in Vancouver, WA. It was mid-August, the coast’s prime growing season, and lining both sides of the road were patches of wild blackberries so loaded with fruit the branches bent to the ground. Prior visits had made believers of us berry lovers that these kind were the tastiest we’d ever had. Now running more hog wild than ever, they were doubly enticing.

I burst out, “Look at them all! The highway department can’t keep up with cutting them back!” No sooner said when our tires scrunched a berry-covered creeper stretched onto the pavement. Gawking from side to side, I swerved a couple times.

Ruthie tapped my shoulder.  “Dear, zigzagging the whole way to my brother’s place is a no-no. Let’s just stop and pick some.”

We’d known enough to bring buckets and quicker than it takes to tell it we were snatching up blackberries with both hands.

Scratched from neck to ankles in a tangle of brambles and caring less, I held up my bucket and crowed, “Bet I’ve got a gallon already!”

At least this much in her own, she laughed, “Looks like they’re mostly on your face and t-shirt!”

Same as her, I had eaten one for every two I picked, just messier is all. But we were exactly alike in one thing, anyway; not being scared off by their prices in those little-bitty boxes at the store.

She frowned. “But we’re not showing up with you all stained, so change, okay?”

I probably sounded like a six year-old, “C’mon sweetie, they’re as nuts for these as we are! That huge patch in their back yard will have them stained when we get there!”

When we did they weren’t, but Rich laughed, “Gibber, once back from where we’re taking you guys, I’ll look worse than you. There’s patches coming and going!”          They wanted to show us this incredible lighthouse they had been to last month. Next eyeing my shirt, Cec wagged a finger at me a half second before Ruthie did. “But Berry Boy we’re not going anyplace ‘til you change that thing!”

Before long we were at Cape Disappointment, famous for its lighthouse high atop a rock promontory above the mouth of the Columbia River. After climbing the lighthouse stairs to the top, we were met by guide Barbara.

She told us, “The winter winds can get up to 160 mph. here and have caused lots of shipwrecks.” She pointed to where the mighty Columbia spread out even wider into the Pacific. “Many of them are still down there from years ago. Even a ways inland the winds are strong enough to make it the wind-surfing capitol of the world.”

After coming down, we went to the overlook. Rich said, “When we were here last month she said that whales are out there pretty often. We didn’t see any that time, but stay ready with the binoculars.” 

Fascinated by these great, intelligent creatures, I had never seen any except on the Discovery channel. Eagerly scanning our little corner of the Pacific, I jerked up. “I think I see some-maybe a whole pod!” My so-called pod was quite a ways out and obscured by large, choppy waves. Still, whatever-they-were sure looked like humpbacks spouting and diving out there.  

                       

                   “No, people, open your eyes! They're way bigger than porpoises!”  

(Wow, how exciting! Find out more with Part 2!)

Many thanks to those of you who've signed up so far. As Ruthie said in her PR e-mails, getting followers for this blog is a big step in the right direction for publishing our book. Also, the more comments made after each piece the better, whether you liked them-were bored-or whatever, so keep them coming. Within the next week I'll be posting another of our two-part travel tales. Enjoy. 

You're right, I've been away too long. So, here's one of my "This and That" pieces which I'm also sending to the Rapids Tribune. Enjoy.

                                    Is It Spring Yet?

            Someone, a poet I think, once wrote, “Oh springtime, such blessed renewal!” It seems to have sprung here in Adams County and lots of us feel the same way.

            Ruthie does, like yesterday when dancing around her newly sprouted tulips. An avid bird lover, she even chirped like one while putting up feeders for her hummers.

            On a roll with this springtime renewal stuff, she found a bunch of other things around here that could use it. With me watching, she walked back and forth over a section of our boardwalk in front. Stopping, she shifted from side to side.

             “See, dear? The wood runners are rotted under these boards. They wiggle and sag when I walk on them and it drives me crazy!”

            I admitted, “Yeah, they’ve done that lately with me too.”

            She gave me that look. “Gilbert, what exactly do you call lately!?”

            Any who’ve read this column know what “Gilbert” instead of “dear” means. I’d soon be sweating and straining to replace the boardwalk. Cleverly-to throw her off balance-I shot back, “Okay, a bit longer (a couple years) but we can still walk on it!”

            You might also know where my protests get me. An hour later I had two eight-foot 4x4 replacement runners in the garage. Soon as all this rain takes a break from renewing everything I’ll put them in.

            Our car had also made her renewal list, she telling me, “Dear, it was used when we bought it eight years ago. Now there’s almost two-hundred thousand miles on it. You’re the astronomer. Isn’t that the same as from here to the Moon?”

            New car prices are scary and I hate having to buy them. Very cautiously I said, “It’s 240,000 give or take.”

            Eyes wide, she gasped, “Nearly a quarter of a million? We need to go car shopping ASAP!”

            She threw in that “million” to make it seem even more, I bet. But there was the upside; a newer car would let me off the hook with repairs. Better yet, there’d be no more of her renewal schemes to duck and hide from, not for awhile, anyway.

            Except nuts, I forgot last week when she was frowning at the walls and trim in the living room. “Dear, when was the last time we re-painted in here, six years ago?”

            It had been longer. Dreading what was coming next, I mumbled the number in a bare whisper so she couldn’t possibly understand or even hear it.  

            “You’re right, it was eight! But by putting a fresh coat in here…” She paused- “…and all the other rooms, we’d renew the whole inside!” She waited for my answer.

            This time I just grunted and shuffled my feet.

            She nodded enthusiastically, “Right again, dear, you’re a genius! A new-looking inside would only make the outside look worn and old! So, we’d also have to .etc.-etc.”

            Meantime, I scratched my head-I said all that? Maybe I should renew my brain!

            By now you’ve had it up to here with my renewal of this and renewing that, and me-too. Let’s end it by saying that Ruthie and I, along with our friends really do have fun seeing my babblings appear here in the Rapids Tribune. So, a reminder; be sure to…renew your subscriptions when due, okay? (Sorry-couldn’t resist). And finally (if it makes up its mind to arrive)-Happy Springtime!  

                       

            

            Hi all and letting you know-I’m suddenly buried with sprucing up my travel pieces and compiling them into a manuscript that's presentable to a publisher. Ruthie and I are convinced, naturally, that soon as it hits the stands at Barnes and Noble it’ll be a runaway best seller. As we work to make it happen, you’ll see remarks about how we’re doing right here…including any pain in the butt problems we’re having, whatever we do accomplish, and yeah my whining about Ruthie’s nagging to get it done. Meantime I'll keep posting now and then excerpts from the travel pieces…but not many (otherwise you won’t buy the book later on). Starting today our blog will include other stuff like my occasional humor columns for the Wisconsin Rapids Tribune. Finally, any comments you'd like to make following any of these pieces are most welcome. That’s it. Enjoy!

Here’s a timely piece for “This and That”

Goodbye Winter-Hello Spring!  

            Now that it’s finally warming up, it’s time for growing our tasty veggies. Ruthie and I are so nuts for our home grown ones that half the yard is a garden for them. And yeah, it’s still too cold for tomato and cucumber plants. But last week I planted seeds outside for the hardier stuff. When finished I had seed rows of carrots, radishes, and onions-quite a few actually-in our planter boxes.

             Seeing me bent over the boxes late the next day, Ruthie came over. “So, Garden Boy, what are you doing?”

            Eyes glued to the rows, I groused, “Nuts! Nothing’s sprouted yet!”

            She rolled up her eyes. “Honestly, Gilbert, they just went in yesterday!” (She calls me “Gilbert”, never “Dear” when seeing me act a bit…strangely). 

            “Well, the seed packets claim these are very fast-growing. I’m just checking.”

            Shaking her head, she laughed, “It’s getting dark! If you’re going to keep standing here…ha-ha!-want the flashlight?”

            She was right, I was being a goof. It was getting darker by the minute and the temperature was dropping. Then I groaned, “Did I just see a snowflake?” The weather guy had said it might snow, but only a little. Suddenly nervous I added, “Maybe we should tarp over these boxes.”

            “Gilbert, a little snow cover won’t hurt them. Let’s go inside.”

             I got up early the next morning, looked out the window, and? A little my eye! We'd been hit with six inches! Fortunately, the seed packets had also said these carrots and stuff are tough enough to handle it-which left the big question. Could I?

            Ruthie couldn’t. She yelled, “Get in here! Your radishes will survive but you’ll catch pneumonia!”

            Resigned, kind-of, I settled for peeking at the seeds I’d also planted in basement boxes beneath fluorescent lights. And lo, there they were, sprouts from our broccoli, cauliflower, beets, basil, and Ruthie’s dumb marigold seeds-jillions of them!

            Joining me moments later, she gasped, “Good grief, Gilbert, how much broccoli did you plant?” (I’m also called that when she’s ticked off).

             And yeah, I might’ve overdone it a tad. “Well, I’ve already thinned them, so no problem.”

            “No? Well, Garden Boy, that still leaves…” She started counting.

            Having already done that, I finished for her, “…thirty-four.” (There are. I just now went down and recounted them). And sure, much as we love the stuff, I had to admit-that’s a lot of broccoli. Not counting the cauliflower, another three dozen or so. As she went back up the stairs muttering something about having to buy another freezer, I did a double take at the beet sprouts. Already a couple inches tall and very healthy-looking, there had to be three or four hundred of them. Luckily, our pal Rita likes them, or else we’ll be buried beneath beets. She’ll be good for five or six bushels-I hope.

            Anyhow, I can’t wait ‘til a few weeks from now. Then I can zoom over to our local nursery for the delicate varieties of seedlings; tomatoes, cucumbers, squashes, peppers, and you name it. The only problem; I’m restricted from going there without adequate supervision-by you know who.

            Meantime this morning I looked at the outside boxes and yep, the snow is gone and all that stuff is poking up. In fact, Ruthie just now went out there to see them, too- which might be my other problem any second. So, can any of you readers come over in a few weeks for some carrots and radishes-lots lots of them?  

            “Gilbert!!!”

           

              

Part II; star gazing fun continues and even includes...a UFO?                                                

Waupaca Star Party

            Seeing my struggles with the planisphere, Rick said, “Bring it here and I’ll help you.” Examining it, he reassured, “It took me three years to figure mine out. Suddenly one night I was doing it! Keep at it and you’ll be fine.” He held up what looked like a thickened pen. “This laser is another helper.” Shooting its bright green beam skyward at what he called the Keystone Formation, he scribed a line from the star Vega on one side to Arcturus on the other. “The line between those pointer stars locates the M5 star cluster in the Keystone. It’s not visible to the naked eye and your binoculars will only show it as a tiny smudge.”

            He was right. Through our binoculars M5 was just a pea-sized bit of fog.

            “Now try it with my ‘scope.”

            Out burst more of our “Wow’s!” as we took our turns. Seen through his 14” Meade, the cluster’s bright center of closely packed stars had a lovely halo of outlying ones. After re-aligning his ‘scope, he next showed us the Dumbbell cluster and the Swan nebula.                      

            Jeff called to us from atop his ladder “Come up and see it with my twenty-two inch!”

            Fascinated with the cluster’s greatly magnified image, I kept staring at it ‘til Ruthie tugged my pants leg. “OK, dear, let someone else have a turn.”

            Our exclamations were echoed by others all over the site as they, too, zeroed in on whatever they were itching to see. Better, the viewing was enhanced by perfect conditions; no interfering moonlight, a clear sky, and the cooler air temperature.

            As a surprise add-on to the excitement someone yelled, “Look to the west! What is that!”

             A very bright object was blinking on and off at regular intervals in its orbital trail across all the other stars.

            “I’ve never seen a satellite do that!”

            “Without red and green running lights that’s no plane!”

            A “Close Encounters” fan just went ahead and said it. “Maybe it’s a UFO!”

            As it winked out of sight, one of the pro-astronomers was a party killer. “Nah-it’s a satellite tumbling end over end. The panels are reflecting light from the sun that we can’t see.”

            Finally, Ruthie nudged me. “It’s been great fun, dear, but its way past midnight. Let’s go home.”            

            As we headed for the car, I kept raising the binoculars for final peeks at the Andromeda Nebula. I’d spent many a frustrating evening failing to even locate it. Tonight these NCSF people had taught me where to search it out and then shown what it looked like when brought closer in their ‘scopes. Seen now through our 7X50 binoculars the huge spiral nebula was still only a small patch of brightened haze. Even so, it looked awesome.

            As Ruthie waved me towards our car, I thought-It’s definitely time to give our stingy kids some stronger hints about that new ‘scope!